and Cerena Janelle was born....

I realize I'm really hitting up the updates this week if I write again- but yesterday I had the most spectacular birth ever!



Candy Cenas was endorsed to me (by my good friend Sarah Montaudo) at six am, a primagavida with slow progress all through the night she still had some dazzling smiles inbetween contractions. Eager to hold her baby and doing her best with the pain she faithfully walked outside and climbed stairs to speed her labour along. Her sister and bana were with her and both of them were super supportive and encouraging. As she started to get more and more active I added myself fully to the triage and prayed and encouraged her through her intensifying pain. Between my Bisaya and her english we were able to make a strong connection though she was often zoned out to what we term "labour land." Though she had been showing signs of heading through transition I realized quickly when we were actually hitting that wave and let my supervisor know. While still breathing through contractions she continued to walk a bit inbetween. She began to would collapse in her bana's arms with ever contraction and despite continued attempts to breath and relax I could see her body beginging the pushing process- with or without her. I waited for a few more contractions knowing how long primagravida's often have to push for and then checked for vaginal opening. I could just glimpse the bag of waters bulging...

Everything after that went so well- I got her to labour on a chair and let her push. Though exausted from a sleepless night she still smiled at my coaching and encouragement and believe me it was well deserved (the praise) with every selfless concentration the bag of waters became more visible on the perineum and the head behind that. At almost 30 min pushing, her water broke. The other midwives on shift came in to assist at this point and Candy transfered to the bed. With the same slow continual progress her baby's head reached crowning and with increadable control she breathed the head and body slowly out so that there was not the slightest tear!

A perfect baby girl! as healthy as healthy can be, wailing and pink almost from the first with such delicate little features and beautifully creased feet. 12:36pm. 6'5 Ibs. The placenta followed and the bleeding was controled, as the parents discussed a name. The had Cedrae picked out for a boy- but had not quite been quite as prepared with a girls name. I off handedly suggested Serena- trying to pick a girls name which sounded remotely like Cedrae (which they were obviously trying for) it just came to mind since its my good friend and fellow midwifes name and perhaps because of the serenity of the whole birth. I also remembered that Serena in Bisaya means mermaid. They didn't jump on it at first, but when I returned later for a check and asked them about her name Candy proudly told me that they wanted to name her Cerena Janelle- (it was important to have the initials CJ because her name is Candy and her bana's name Jeffery!)

Wow! I was pleased pink :) ;besides her being such a beautiful little thing to be running around with my name....

I sat with Candy and her sister Ling chatting for awhile between checks and it was such a good time of fellowship. They asked me all about my life- the usual questions, how long I was in the Philippines, if I was single, what country did I come from, How old was I and I got to share more, about God's goodness to me and His plans over my life. They agreed that He had given me much joy- "Thank you for sharing that joy Janelle, and thank you so much for your patience" ! I just hardly knew what to say, she was so wonderful, she had done such an amazing job, I just loved being with that little family because you could tell the rejoicing thy had over eachother and their new child. I wanted to make them understand that it was my priviledge "Thank you for letting me be here and be a part of the birth of your child..." (Let alone name your baby after me!) wow, I was quite in awe, and utterly thankful- the Glory is His!

Blessings and the Bukid

Time keeps turning over here in Davao, and what it turns over is depth of life.
I arrived back from an outreach to the Bukid yesterday (mountains north of Davao City) 5 days of motorbikes up and down the glories of green. In crevices fit the stilted houses and brown children, in the valley the rice paddies and cattle egrets. And beyond these were the stories, the story of the girl sitting with the empty rice fennel, and the one on short stilts; halves of a coconut with a string between the toes. The story of the blue mist on the horizon. In all this God takes glory, and around every bend I found my prayers carried praise and awe.
Our service could not be counted as much, I cleaned out a maze of boils and dead flesh on an older woman's neck with inadequate supplies and the buntis women came to listen to heart beats in their womb. We knew the important thing was that we prayed, over every stretched belly and into every child's eyes. We prayed promise into their lives. The truth I saw was that we did not bring God with us, though He privileged us to be His hands and feet, but that we met Him there, in every mountain stream and child's smile. That He has been glorified in His creation forever before my eyes delighted on it and in the same way He has been set on the wooing of his mountain people. So our prayers are in all hope, for we have tasted what God has wrought for His children. We have been claimed in His passion, and we have been blessed with eyes to see His presence even where pain lays abundant.
Time keeps turning over here in Davao, and what it turns over is depth of life. And this is how He has been calling me, into abundance, into intimacy. Intimacy with God is the well spring of abundance of life. As He keeps drawing me closer by His own grace and humility my learning response has lately been ruptured on the principle of first fruits. "Bring the best of the first fruits of your soil to the house of the Lord your God." Ex 23:19 I am a person who verbosely works through life, I need to talk through my circumstance and tell my stories. I know that often by the time I have talked through a situation with someone, things seem clear, the mire has settled to the bed of the pond. In the same way I can't wait to express excitement over a recent event or piece of news. But the story it seems is always best the first time, and God has been asking me to share those times with Him.
I ask Him to come sit with me for the first reading of anticipated news from home and share the excitement and needs that lay within. I express first to Him the confusion of the Birth room after a hard shift. I sit in silence before His throne first after hearing of a friend's grief. It should be the most natural thing in the world; if I have entered into a covenant relationship with God of complete dependence and deepest friendship He should be the one I can't wait to tell when I do well on my exam, or discover a prayer answered (!!!)
Yet how often do we take that away from Him? And bring him the version told already three times over... Why is there something so disturbing about the gossip of old busy bodies? And as women how can we discern between what idle talk is and what is building up? How would outcomes differ if we would bring immediately to God our first guilt and doubts before Satan had a chance to whisper lies? Oh friends, seek Him!
I can't understand or convey all that is meant or should be taken from scripture regarding first fruits. As a means to strive for intimacy with God it has meant for me truly bringing to Him first, before anyone else, the struggles and labours of my breathing moments. And here my life is deepened.
" I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day for Christ Jesus." Phil 1: 3-6 Janelle

They say Christmas is a good time to write Newsletters...

Written Jan 3. 08

This is the end of my first real day back in Davao after a long bus ride back from Talakag yesterday. The past weeks have left me full; set on hope, joyful in growth, determined in perseverance towards Gods promises. After the fury of work and preparations leading up to my departure on the 21st, I left on the public bus and through windy mountain passes to spend Christmas with a friend from Trinity and her Filipino family on northern Mindanao. Mmmm it’s raining now, ganahan ko sa ulan ( I really love the rain.) I had little idea what to expect, I hadn’t been compelled to ask many questions, as most of you know I thrive on the unexpected and am comfortable flying by the seat of my pants! And surprised I was....The Borreta’s live not in the city of Cagayan de Oro, but west thereof in the mountainous town of Talakag in a small house with bucket flush toilets and a beautiful garden behind... yes it basically had my name written all over it! I shared a room with Marianne and her three delightful nieces who made me their student for the bisaya language and the hand games they played constantly! Within the day of arriving I was quite exhausted and, having already had been given gruelling schedule of church activities and parties we would be attending turned in slight surprise to God and asked “I thought... well I assumed... well, what about rest?” He laughed a bit, not at me but the kind that says I know what’s coming to you and it’s amazing...and replied “I know exactly what you need”In the words of princess buttercup, “I will never doubt again” ! My time in Talakag was nothing short of miraculous, I was taken into their indigenous church like I was jewel, the youth group were a bunch of crazy, growing kids eager to teach me all I could want to know, tease me, practice English, have patience with my Bisaya, and value my impute. The Borreta’s showed me off to everyone they knew and by the end of my stay I’m sure the whole town knew my name ( though they originally thought I was Angeline (?)On Christmas day after opening some amazing little packages from friends in Canada I went out and bought a notebook for 6 pesos, most defiantly the best 6 pesos I have spent yet, and probably the best I will ever spend. I carry it will me everywhere ( its sitting open beside me right now dirty and falling apart) and it is almost full of Bisaya words and phrases. This was my Christmas miracle, I got people to speak to me in Bisaya and explain everything while I sat and wrote and repeated and listened, I prayed constantly that God would expand my mind (guess who is faithful !) In 3 days my vocabulary had increased by 90%! I’ve decided it’s one of my favourite feelings in the world, to fall off the edge of a language, it’s like you dive in and slowly you learn how to breath- under water!!!! Yep it’s basically AMAZING! My biggest fear right now is that back here around English all the time and school work I’ll slow down my learning to a halt- please pray that doesn’t happen! I’m committed!While being there I was stuffed with litson (whole roasted pig, it’s a secret art how they get it perfectly on the bamboo pole and roasted golden ev-er-y single time!) deafened by firecrackers, and surprised by joy! God is so good!Somehow in the midst of sleepless nights and constant action I was more than rested, I was rejuvenated! Life is really something when it is lived past the borders. Sometimes I would sneak away in the dark and squat under the palm tree in the garden, a minute of listening to crickets, cicadas and bats worship in that sanctuary, a minute just sitting with my creator and salvation and I was full.God is more than good. He is always more, keep pressing in! The further in you go the bigger it gets, more deep, more wide and more FREE. He is GOOD.think about all that is contained in just the name Emmanuel, “God with us” God with us God with us God with us God With Us.... chew it over like a cowI love you all! Janelle

To the tune of "Everybody's got a Waterbuffalo"

It has been almost a week since I came back from outreach...I meant to write sooner but the frenzy of the birthroom, assignments, a small bout with sickness, now painting of the prenatal room, planning a mural for the prenatal room (!), learning in general and a few sleepless nights have kept me on my toes. It has been a week of missing though; I can’t describe how alive and blessed I was the whole 16hrs in the back of that little pickup truck. Ah God, are you sure you don’t want to call me right now to live in a little stilted hut in the mountains and maybe just one little water buffalo? I would go without before my heart had a chance to beat!It all started at 3:30am. Jordan and I (fellow midwife in training and adventurer) quickly woke up rather quickly and stumbled about till we met Mordegai outside our gate and scrabbled into the back of his tiny red Suzuki pick-up and started out in the dark. By the time we got on the highway out of the city there were 6 of us in the back, Chad, Tim, Manny and his son Alex plus Jordan and I. Those three are all married to students of Newlife and go on as many outreaches to the boonies as possible in a vain attempt to escape the controlling female hormones which surround the birthroom. Jordan and I were more than ready for an escape too! The bales of used clothes we were taking to these remote villages cushioned the cab bed, but we didn’t have to worry about bad roads for awhile. That “while” hadn’t even come before we had our first bout of excitement. Our road had been snaking through the banana plantations for awhile and we had arrived just in time to share the road with the little mopeds whose job it was to empty big containers of pesticide onto the trees....and onto us. We all sat with our mouths covered and our eyes squinted, thoughts of my Grade 11 Environmental Science class ran my head especially what I remembered of Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring.” We slowly to breathe again, it was too soon. I am filled with a strange roaring noise and in the same instant look over at Tim, who begins a loud exclamation as his eyes turn upward. I duck and look as a small plane roars about thirty feet directly over our heads- from about 12 different openings spaced along the wings a white cloak of sticky powder rains down on us! Mordegai yells from the front about a tarp under the seat and within a few seconds we are all huddled under a blue canopy. A few seconds late; we all cough quietly and dare not open our eyes. When we do look we notice the windshield- which is almost opaque- Mordegai pulled over to give the plane a head start and to wipe of the window a bit. It was a very unique and uncalled for experience; I still plan on having fully limbed children!Once we got off the road I was in my element, the small eroded roads quickly gave us a healthy appreciation for the bales of clothes. Water buffalo’s were scattered among the stilted houses and waving children. Our little truck groaned through some muddy spots but handled the road very well we got to our first river and though wide- it was shallow and we ploughed through without trouble. The next river however was not the same story- though narrow was deep and had quite a steep embankment to get through to the other side. Needless to say we didn’t make it. As we sputtered to a stop Mordegai yells “Push!” but it is a bit late- though we all eagerly (at least on my side ) jump into the river and start heaving the little truck up the bank. It will not be moved. The water comes up to my mid thighs. When it is obvious forward is not an option we begin to push backwards to the other side. It was hard to get footing in the sandy river bed but somehow we managed to get it high and dry at its starting place. The engine was flooded. The little red machine refused to start at first and after it did Mordegai pronounced the clutch to be having bad problems. Turn around? Of course not!!!!!We drove over a dried out section of the river bed to a better place to ford and after that successful event, made a way through the bush back to the road.The rest of the trip was uphill. Our vehicle, already old and abused had lost much of its power in the river incident and we found ourselves not only walking up the hills- but pushing the lovely beast before us. Ahh I was at home! The sun beat down and the mud was cool between my bare toes, the mud cooled me almost to my knee caps actually. On either side of the road there was untamed bush- green and wild, rolling into darker shades and finally to blue mountains which met the sky. When we did pass villages the stilted precariously placed dwellings did give the appearance of frailty, though truly they were all “houses of straw.” They just belonged, as did the people, wonderfully unexplained and completely unexplainable. And I belonged behind that red truck. Later on the return trip Chad turned to me and stated “You were made for this weren’t you? Look at you, your face is just radiating Joy!” “Yes” I nodded, “Every time we go over a bump and I look out at the wilds we are in or I get up to my knees in mud it’s God scooping blessing on me like a spoon full of rice, here you go....oh and here you go again!” That is the abundance God wants to give me...a taste that is. But what a taste!Oh my goodness and the story isn’t even over yet...our truck got us to the end of the road and then we followed the trail on foot, down the mountain and over the cable bridge over the river to a small village where we delivered medicine and the clothes and sandals we had brought- it was a big party for such a small help, but it did take all of us to get the truck all that way! By the time we made it to the village it was about 1:30pm, we had left Davao around 4am. We met a woman there who had been carried out up the mountain 3 months before on her deathbed. God spared her life through a series of miracles and she was back in her village slowly discovering Him. I was so privileged to meet the Christians there and see how the people responded to Mordegai, a true missionary; he spoke their language fluently and for years had learnt these mountains through the friendships of individual families. They love him!The trip back was much less eventful, after a vigorous hike up the mountain to the truck we finally enjoyed some downhill. Till we met the coal tar gravity and our now intimate knowledge of the mud holes guaranteed us a stuck-less ride. We were almost being hit by a truck on the highway and our rears cried for lack of padding but the return trip went well.

"My precious Kamote" (to the tune of "Precious Cheesburger- by Larry the Cucumber)

A very wise woman once told me, her name probably ended in Austin, that to be a writer one must write. I’m sure it came from a greater person who took their own advice to heart before they died, I’m sure that greater person even had a name which is somewhere in my brain but in this instance the character of the author could not diminish the soundness of the advice. So I write.I have not missed a Sunday afternoon Frisbee game since I arrived and though the girls were skipping out on me and heavy clouds rolled in from the west my commitment was not to be dissuaded.I supposed none of the games regulars would be braving the weather either- though there was nothing presently I could more wish for then a muddy field and a flying disc – I did not expect such excitement from my companions. That realization was of very little consequence; I was hungry enough for both rain and adventure that nothing could damper my happy feet from sloshing out through the river rising in the street. BUT, before my happy feet could skip out the door I was accosted by a damsel in distress! (Ok she probably never had a “distressed” day in her life, but Lois was in DIRE need of my services Tonight was our celebration of Canadian thanksgiving and WHAT thanksgiving dinner was complete without sweet potatoes? Unthinkable- so it was up to me to brave the storm and return safely and timely with the precious “kamote” (as they are so called in Bissya.) I didn’t let another moment hold me to dryness- so with nothing but my slippers on my feet and my wallet in its pouch over my shoulder- I entered the dominion of the grey sky. I proceeded up stream. Grinning at many wide eyed Filipinos who were hiding under their tin roofs I made use of my 20 words of Bissya vocab to assert the whereabouts of these “kamote’s.” Of the 20 words I can use in Bissya, one of them proved to be moderately related to and remotely relevant to my search- you guessed it, that word is “kamote.” Strangely as much as I smiled, spoke assertively and motioned a fabricated potato between my hands people were having a really hard time understanding what I was looking for. Possibly my dishevelled appearance and apparent joy at walking uncovered in the rain were a source of their confusion? It didn’t damper me too much- I just kept exploring and talking to strangers. The rain pounded heavier and some streets rushed water to my calves- walking was getting awkward and my slippers proved their boat like qualities more than once but my grin was nowhere near extinguishable. I finally decided that the local neighbourhood had defeated me and I would have to make my way to the Agdao market.Time from the acceptance of this plan in my mind to the next colourful Tricicab floating down the street was surprisingly short. With the driver I got to use a bit more vocab and as usual he used the opportunity to rattle on in Bissya for awhile. My nervous laughter at his questions prompted the question “how long in Davao?” which I could answer- he assured me that very soon I would speak Bissya perfectly  The market is open but also covered. As I ducked under the spouts of rain into the myriad of little stalls a wave of water on the tin roof made gave the impression that I was shopping below a waterfall! I wove between people, peanuts and pigs heads using my former smiles and signals to stir fingers in the direction of my intended purchase. The keepers of vegetable stalls passed by did not seem to readily understand that I needed ONLY “kamote.”Aha! Victory at last; across another watery street and beside the live poultry my little kamote’s were waiting for me. Two kilos and 30 peso’s later they were swinging in pretty pink “cellophane” from my tricicab bound fingers. The tricicab driver and other passengers were relieved when I assured them they need not try to “float” down my street and deliver me to my door- I hopped out and rummaged for a soaked 20 peso bill- waited for change and then waded home. I passed a couple making use of a spout beside their stilted house for a quick soap down, I suppose I have no right to be jealous of their circumstance but their shower system appeals to me a lot. Entering at the back to prevent slippery floors led me straight into the kitchen and my kamote’s into the hands of a no longer distressed damsel. Mission accomplished! Somewhere along the journey I decided that if I was ever to have an Indian style name which did not, literally translated, mean “loved by God” it would certainly mean “She who walks in the rain.” Of course it seems to me now that those phrases are almost interchangeable.

The Groaning of Creation

Yesterday I paused after my shower behind our house, the sky was orange from city lights and as I took a second to be still a bat swooped down and up between the houses and through the street light. It left me in a state of wonder. A few more times he came back and though almost noiseless I imagined the wind from his wings on my face. I stood and the concrete felt rough and cool beneath my bare feet. Most of the house lights were already out but the night was bright with shadows. Wonder. My mind was stuck on simple awe of the strength of life I encounter at every turn through my day. I read a poem once about the places poetry hides...in old socks tossed on the floor, in skunk’s eyes. Now it seems life has crept on me in much the same way. The tap dripping in the hollows of the sunlit kitchen; The image of the t-shirt I am throwing on the line against the blue sky; The breeze I can see whispering to the tree tops though I am hot and sticky; The hand of a buntis (pregnant woman) on her swollen belly; The blended colours of traffic as I take the first calculated step to cross the street; a mothers breath between contractions; the incessant whine of the neighbourhood dog as I try to work; the karaoke crooning from the corner at most given times; the simple look between friends when you know what is heavy on the their heart; the mosquito swatted thoughtlessly on my leg and wiped on my lappa; the irregular whirl of my fan. Since yesterday I have been bombarded by these little portraits. I feel my body must not have room for the simple joy of LIFE. What then when I dwell on our created spirits? The pain of separation, the gift of voice, power of purpose...; what infinite more life is cupped in us- can I explode in wonder?!Today at church we partook in communion and I felt the life of Christ in my body- how can I tell you that it is this life which truly sustains all the above. The source is not dead (!) and all things in movement or stationary on the edge of the counter are silently vibrant with the breath of the Living God. I say silent because mostly we are not able to hear...but quietly and slowly my ears are opening to the voice of creation:“The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For creation was subject to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we are saved. But hope that is not seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”Am I a fool to hope? Then I am a fool for Christ. From the corners of the world I hear tell of the works of the Lord! My body will not contain the anticipation of the Spirit within me. I was created for life and I am ALIVE! May His name be praised throughout all generations and in all nations....

The Beautiful Road

The clouds are drifting across the sky. Soft and so full of light, feather edged they blow and the sky is grey behind them.The golden hour brings real colour to our street, the bowing leaves of a palm coconut are caught in light and they sway it seems in the simple joy of movement. I think that is finally what God has brought me to in this place after the colours of the past few days are settling into His light. The joy of movement. This world touched me with a strange belonging within my initial sight its white beaches from the plane, and even more so after the bright unorthodox trip home in the G’s put-put van. A strange battle has been fought in the past few days. My own spirit giving one last push of panic to spare the loss of closely held dreams and expectations, building denial against new realisation, straining and cringing against my souls absolute and deep knowledge that it is here- with all that here is and will prove to be- that God has ordained for me.And so through these stomach weighing waves, I see again so clearly the zealous reasoning for my attachment to the developing world. It is here that I am undone at every turn unless hand lead by the Spirit of the Almighty God. It is here that I am broken to humility a hundred times a day so my knees are familiar with the comfort before His throne. It is here that I am mouldable clay.I have had to ask since arrival for the restoration of my joy. And today I feel its restoration. How can I, being Janelle Waines, not be constantly delighted by exploration of the Davao public transport system, the colourful and consistently questionable Jeepney’s and Tricabs; in wonder at how I survived all these years without the versatile malong; satisfied with all the new and fantastic available food...Asia has romanced me...whatever will I do? Have I even begun to express the tingling I experience every time I see a petite golden Filipino woman waddling from the clinic with a beautifully rounded belly? Ha ha! On my room door the names of my roommates and I appear on creatively decorated construction paper along with our name meanings. Underneath “Janelle” is written “God is Gracious.” God is gracious... He knows the desires of my heart, so much deeper than my plans and expectations, and invites me into a place where I am fulfilled. This place where I cannot be fooled into confidence, where I have no option but humility is the only place where my deepest desire, the desire of God’s presence, is fufilled.

Janelle's first Newsletter- onto Newlife!

I find myself among friends. The trip down was long, but not too painful. I got most of my tears out Thursday morning, and by the time I was waving goodbye to the new farm cow, April, I was at peace. It wasn’t till the next morning, talking to some guests that were over at my Auntie Nellie’s and Uncle Erv’s that the old excitement started to set in. As I talked about my past, and the steps along the direct path that lead me to Newlife, my old excitement returned. And I remembered that God really was fulfilling the desires of my heart!My next stretch of bus trip was longer than it should have been, due mostly to a late start and bad traffic. I sat beside a very interesting woman. She was an artist who worked mostly with leather and natural materials. Her name is Verity Stillwaters. I’m sure she is part Native America. She had moved around a lot and had a much advice on things. She pulled out a zip lock bag in the course of our discussion and started to offer me small pinches of...dried herbs. Some tasted like tea leaves and some like sawdust. Each was supposed to cure me of some supposed ailment... Towards the end of the ride our conversation turned more religious, she had read the bible cover to cover and memorized much scripture but her theology was really...twisted. She kept using words like “interesting” and “helpful” to describe what she remembered, though there was no time to get deep into things, I felt we had a really strong connection. She gave me her card and told me she’d love to get a call from me and would show me around/put me up any time I was down in San Diego. I arrived in Longview hours late but Lynn was still waiting, she’s one of those women who you know looks young for her age and has that sparkle in her eye. We didn’t run out of things to talk about on the 20 min drive “home.” We crossed the Columbian river into Oregon and soon arrived at the small town of Clatskanie. A quaint pizza parlour was already housing the 4 girls who had previously arrived. We had no trouble connecting. Sarah and Holly were best friends who had met while working in Malawi together. They are both about 23 and full of experience and fun. Jess is a special ed teacher and Midwifery is another step to the work God is calling her to do in Indonesia. She has already done more a year of missions work there. Jordan is the youngest in the group and I was easily drawn to her huge blue eyes and sweet face. She is just out of high school but is only 4 months younger than me. The oldest in a family of (soon to be) 13, she has lived with her family for about a year in Brazil. She and I will be close, sometimes you can just tell these things, and maybe I just have a lot of practice!Later when we were already in bed the last three (three are ahead in Davao already) arrived. There is Stephanie, the oldest by far at 30 who I think will have a bit of a rough go, but she is made of strong stuff. A missionary in Paris for 3 years I got to soak up her French as she was speaking to her French “mama” on the phone today. Serena is the only “real” Canadian in the bunch, and has spent the past year at Prairie Bible Institute. She is really fresh to missions but knows herself well and has a deep sense of purpose. Last of all, Michelle, so far it’s been pulling that she, Jordan and I will make a three some. We are the youngest in the group and all oldest from big families, of whom we have spent time overseas. Michelle is a true blue MK; she’s spent the past 7 years (minus this past one) in Taiwan. As all true MK’s you can imagine it didn’t take us long to dig into each other’s lives and basically pick brainWe identify so much and are similar in the right ways. She speaks Mandarin and Taiwanese and knows she is going back into China as a missionary. She has a heart for the people of Tibet. Talking to her today about Tibetan Buddhism really opened my eyes and I recognised so many bridges to the satanic secret societies in Liberia. Again typical of MK’s, the three of us are already comfortable to reach for each other’s hands; touch is comforting in this time when emotions can be stretched. Our leaders are great, and many of our questions have been answered already. However we really won’t have any idea what it’s all like till we get there. I am encouraged, every girl has a unique story as to how God lead them to this school and each is as miraculous as the last. I have an amazing sense of all things being right. We are all on a path so much bigger than ourselves.We are staying in two rooms at the Town “Inn” who offered the rooms for free as a promotional I suppose... We’ve been hiking and Oregon has been in beautiful weather. Today we visited a huge waterfall after going to the sponsor Vineyard Church in Oregon. The food and fellowship has been great, and though we have a long trip ahead of us, we all can’t wait to just arrive! GOD IS GREAT!

Gods Gift of Justice- Hastings Tolkpah Murder Trial

My mom called me yesterday, just that alone would have made my day, but the news was even better!A murder case connected to Liberian secret societies (Devil Bush, which are constantly engaged in human sarcrifice, ritualistic killing, and canabalism for Satan worship) involving a young Christian man who refused to be initiated into the societies finally went throught the courts more than two years after his death.My dad has been working for this case for almost as long and gave up two weeks tracking down and (through miraculous circumstance) enprisoning 5 of the murderers. A murder case related to the Secret Societies has NEVER gone anywhere in Liberian Courts before due to bribing and internal networks.In just the last few weeks the trial took place and 5 men were convicted to life inprisonment! For the Inland Church ( the most indigenous and outspoken church in Liberia against the Secret Societies) this is a victory long waited for- and it's celebration is going on all over the country! My mom told me this has also challenged many other NGO's (Non Government Organizations-ie relief and development organizations) to commit themselves to seeing this justice process through!Liberia is Smiling OH! and me too- I am smiling!

Need

This is from my journal entry today, but for some reason I want to share it:"We turned onto East Hastings and I didn’t notice at first. But I looked up at a grocery store and there I saw her. Aged woman, proud, strait. And sad. So sad I couldn’t look away. She was deathly thin- her face wasted away and her stick legs came gray white out of her long black coat. That black black coat she clutched around her trying to keep it out. I don’t know what it was, but it also meant my eyes couldn’t leave her feet, crippled by a pair of tall black shoes, too big. With every one of her steps I winced for her pain. She kept walking.Walking and I wanted to tell her to take off her shoes, please take off your shoes and don’t hurt yourself anymore. But she wasn’t hurting herself- those shoes were protecting her from something, she was afraid. I wanted to walk out and pick her off those weary feet, pick her up like a frail bird in my arms and take her somewhere safe. Somewhere safe and I would take her shoes off and wash her feet. Her thin sick, gray feet. She was so thin and I didn’t think she was ugly. I only saw need.We got back to school, in the cafeteria and I almost forgot- maybe I really would have forgotten. I could have forgotten her! I almost forgot but there were smiling girls in black dresses and black high shoes. Waiting, not walking. Young and maybe not sad. A dance. But it was the same picture- the same wall protecting a different treasure. Or maybe the treasure was the same, but one wall was full of holes- and the other had just been built. Sometimes need jumps out at you, takes you by the throat forcing you to swallow a lump so big you spit it back out. Other times it sneaks by so quietly that you would hardly notice; if it had not sneaked by so many times. How do we begin washing those feet? Lord help us."